


I Witnessed It, After All

by superliminalpermafrost (SuperliminalRain)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Famous Poet Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and they were travelling companions, omg they were travelling companions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperliminalRain/pseuds/superliminalpermafrost
Summary: The Famous Poet Dandelion and the Witcher Geralt fall into an easy companionship after their first meeting, sharing songs and meals as they travel together. But as the nights turn cold and sharing a bedroll becomes a necessity, things grow awkward between the two men.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. We know little about love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Witnessed It, After All (abandoned WIP)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991611) by [superliminalpermafrost (SuperliminalRain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperliminalRain/pseuds/superliminalpermafrost). 



> "You wrongfully thought, Geralt, that Little Eye was interested in you out of morbid, downright perverted curiosity,  
> that she looks at you as though you were a queer fish, a two-headed calf or a salamander in a  
> menagerie. And you immediately became annoyed, gave her a rude, undeserved reprimand at the first opportunity, struck back at a blow she hadn’t dealt. I witnessed it, after all." — 'A Little Sacrifice'

Four months after leaving Gulet, Dandelion wakes up with frost glistening on his lashes and wrapping his tresses like a lady’s veil. Geralt wakes up and opines, voice heavy sleep and rough with it too, though Geralt’s voice is always a little rough— rich and deep like a chalumeau but not nearly as sonorous as Dandelion’s own voice— that it is “fucking cold”.

Dandelion pokes at the coals, stirring the dying embers back to life. With more grumbling that the poet can’t quite make out, Geralt fetches the wood he left under his spare cloak and places them in the pit. The Witcher then pulls rations from his pack— dried fruits, and the remains of the smoked fish— and evenly divides them between himself and his traveling companion. They eat in silence, having found they mutually prefer merely to listen to the sounds of the woods and the road over making conversation. Geralt is looking at Dandelion far more than he is wont to, and most peculiarly of all... the Witcher in staring at his eyes. Geralt doesn’t care for eye contact. While the man is no beast (or at least no more a beast than other, un-mutated, men), he only meets another person’s gaze when it is to frighten aldermen trying to cheat him of coin or to exchange sly knowing looks with his traveling companion. Otherwise he prefers to look at his surroundings, or his horse, or at Dandelion’s hat with an awful lot of unwarranted judgement for a man who owns only clothing that if it was ever fashionable, was fashionable decades ago.

The frost from his lashes melts in the soft warmth of the campfire and Dandelion reaches up comb the frost out of his hair as well. His hand reeks of fish and, nose curling in disgust at the scent, the poet gives up on tending to his tresses. Geralt huffs a soft laugh and leans over, his gloved hands gently running across Dandelion’s hair. Were he more awake, or less stupidly fond of the man, Dandelion might think it odd for Geralt to be combing frost out of his hair like he curries Roach’s sweaty coat after a ride. Circumstances being what they are, Dandelion simply closes his eyes and leans forward— acquiescing to Geralt’s generous care. Far too soon, the gentle hands still. Dandelion chases after Geralt's retreating hands and, pulling the Witcher's left hand back to his mouth, places a soft kiss to his gloved palm. Geralt leaves his left hand hovering over Dandelion's lips, and pets the poet's cheek with his fingertips. It tickles and the poet flinches away. But Geralt forces his companion's chin back up, tilting Dandelion's head into his chest, with a careful and unyielding grip. His heart races, and he wonders if under the leather armor Geralt's heartbeat matches his own.   
  
A second passes, or a century passes— it's impossible to pay attention to such a petty thing as time while one is being tenderly held in Geralt of Rivia's arms— and the light of day is pressing against the Dandelion's eyelids. He opens his eyes to a world coated in the golden hues of sunrise. The Witcher’s fine white hair looks almost as blonde as his own in the early light. Geralt, his hand under Dandelion’s chin and his fingers resting against his throat, is truly a vision and Dandelion wants to compose a thousand paeans in honor of his friend.   
  
He wants to kiss him— would kiss him— but he doesn’t know if Rivians look kindly upon men kissing other men with love, though all of Rivia can go hang. Really all that matters is if Geralt approves. The poet opens his mouth to ask when he is unceremoniously tossed (because it doesn’t matter how softly you place someone onto the ground, with no verbal warning it is unceremonious!) from Geralt’s lap. The Witcher stands up and wipes the kiss-stained glove off on his cloak, stammers out something incoherent that Dandelion probably wouldn’t understand even if all the blood in his body wasn’t rushing into his ears, and walks off into the woods to do whatever it is that witchers do when they’re big brooding idiots like Geralt.


	2. A pear is sweet and has a distinct shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which venison is eaten and songs are sung. In which bedrolls are shared, while Geralt's true feelings are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've understood that the sun shines differently when something changes, but I'm not the axis of those changes. The sun shines differently, but it will continue to shine... That's what we've got to learn." -'The Last Wish'

Dandelion must make it to Oxenfurt before the next semester starts in order to overwinter with a comfortable salary and not just whatever funds his royalties and performances bring him, and a less loyal man might have gone on his merry way without Geralt. Lucky for the Witcher, his companion is still at their campsite, when Geralt returns with a young buck slung over his shoulder. Unluckily for him, Dandelion is not generous enough to start the conversation they need to have. But the Witcher is also unwilling to speak, and merely starts butchering his kill and preserving what they will not eat tonight in salt.  
  
This is not the first time the Witcher has brooded and Dandelion has found that philosophy, gossip, and a good song can coax him into good cheer. But bad songs can also annoy the man into acknowledging the poet’s presence, so Dandelion strums his lute and sings a certain bawdy folk song that only children under a certain age understand to be about a hunter and a doe. Geralt puts up with the mediocre (Dandelion doesn't have the heart or lack of ego to play truly awfully) performance for a shockingly long time. It is not until the venison is cooked, and the two companions are sitting together with full bellies, that Geralt protests when Dandelion starts to play the song again.   
  
“What will it take to convince you to play _As Time Passes_ , Dandelion?”  
  
“Perhaps a kiss,” Dandelion suggests, still playing his lute.   
  
Receiving no response, he glances at his companion and is dismayed to see Geralt looks disgusted.  
  
“If you’re going to treat me like one of your _patrons_ ,” Geralt spits out the word with the disdain usually reserved for naming far more profane professions, “you could at least play good music when I ask.”  
  
“Aha, so that’s why you’re acting like a petulant schoolboy. You think I’m naive! But you are not the first man I have shared a journey with, and I am well aware I owe you nothing. What I share with you I freely give, expecting nothing in return, and such is the case with what you share with me.”  
  
“Then why did you respond to my advances?”  
  
“I found them favorable. I wanted you Geralt.”  
  
“Wanted,” he echoes, but with great relief, “Then you’ve stopped wanting me?”  
  
“I still want, dear friend, but not if you’re unwilling.”  
  
“That’s not it,” Geralt says, his tone lace with an anger that has never been directed at the poet before, “You can’t understand.”   
  
“Then make me understand!”  
  
“Drop it, Dandelion,” Geralt pleads miserably, “If you care for me you will drop it. Find someone else to want.”   
  
“I can’t,” Dandelion replies, weary to the bone, “I don’t know how to fall out of love, just into a different bed.”  
  
“Then I won’t let you fall into mine.”   
  
Dandelion is no longer tired, he is incandescent with rage— at Geralt for treating him like a child, and at whoever harmed the Witcher so that Geralt believes no one would freely consent to have him— but mother preserve them, Geralt looks so tired. Dandelion allows himself a dramatic sigh, and then grabs their bedrolls, ignoring Roach’s whinny of protest and Geralt matching noise as he rifles through the other man’s pack.  
  
“If you don’t want me for a bed warmer in every sense of the word, I will not make any attempts on your virtue. I am no rapist, no matter what angry brothers and spouses claim. But it is a matter of necessity for us to share the heat of our bodies on a night like this, do you not agree?”  
  
“I agree,” Geralt says simply, taking his bedroll from Dandelion and laying it on the ground next to where dandelion is laying down his own bedding.   
  
“Splendid.”  
  
Geralt doesn’t protest when Dandelion lays his head upon the Witcher’s breast. In the dark, and under warm covers, it seems Geralt will allow himself to be held with love. And so, the poet dares to snuggle into the crook of his neck and wrap his arms around Geralt’s chest. In turn Geralt embraces the poet, pulling him tight to his chest so that the Witcher can card his hands through Dandelion’s hair. In the morning, Dandelion expects that they will exchange words once more. Geralt's will insist is committing some terrible wrong by cuddling Dandelion, and likely will chastise the poet for allowing it to happen instead of listening to reason— it took months for Geralt to believe that Dandelion was truly happy to have him for a traveling companion, likely it will takes years to assure Geralt that he sincerely wants the Witcher for a bed companion as well. But Dandelion has years left in him and he is at least as stubborn as Geralt, if not more so. Nevermind that they only have two weeks left in their journey.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the short short story "A Little Sacrifice" in _The Sword Of Destiny_ by Andrezj Sapkowski. Since Essi Daven is in most ways just a genderbent Dandelion I wanted to write a story where the reason Dandy knew what Geralt was doing to Essi wasn't solely the fact that he knows Geralt very well, but that Geralt had pulled a very similiar stunt on him. 
> 
> I think anyone unfamiliar with the books who still wishes to read this work will be able to, as this story is set early into Geralt & Dandelion's relationship so you don't need to know any specific events that happen in the books.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you'd like to. I prefer praise & flattery, but I also accept concrit if you've got any!


End file.
